A Duke of Her Own(115)

Despite herself, the back of Eleanor's throat tightened.

"Mother," Anne interceded, leaning forward and waving a copy of the Morning Post, "did you read about this extraordinary robbery?"

"There are so many," the duchess said. "Who can keep account?"

"Yes, but this one happened in our own street!"

"Here?"

"It says that an old gentleman, residing in Arlington Street, was sitting in his front parlor when he was extremely alarmed by the sudden appearance of a man with black crepe over his face."

"A cape on his face? How extraordinary."

"No, black crepe. He must have worn it..."

Eleanor stopped listening. She had beaten back the tears, again. Perhaps she should go for a drive with Mr. Ormston. She had made up her mind to marry a mere gentleman, and any man who didn't even appear in Debrett's Peerage certainly qualified.

There was no real point in waiting for the new season. She suspected—nay, she knew— that her heart would never be whole. Yet she would marry, and she would have children, and she would feel joy again.

But she would never love with that kind of ravening, blissful hunger that she felt for Leopold—the kind of hunger that made her want to touch his arm when they were at supper, meet his eyes at breakfast, sleep next to him every night.

Mr. Ormston's next letter provided something of a relief from these gloomy thoughts.

Dear Lady Eleanor Lindel,

I entirely concur with your dismay at the idea of a tête-à-tête with an unknown man, though I should assure you that I am indeed a gentleman. As the younger son of Baron Plumptre, I took my uncle's surname in honor of his leaving me a snug fortune. I hope that I do not offend you by speaking so directly of these matters. Though I have little hope of refreshing your memory, as I recall, you wore a gown of some sort of blue stuff, and we talked of Miss Burney's play, The Witlings. You did not care for the actress who played Mrs. Voluble.

With deep respect, Hon. Josiah Ormston

"Well, now you must remember him," Anne said with triumph, waving the letter. "You didn't like Mrs. Voluble."

"No one did," Eleanor said. "I barely recall the play, but every review said that Mrs. Voluble was shrill and unpleasant."



"What I like about this man is that he remembers everything about dancing with you," Anne said, dropping the letter and turning to her mother's Debrett's, always handy on the parlor table. "It would be very nice for you to experience some adoration. Yes, he's here, listed not under Ormston, but as a second son to Plumptre. Josiah is not a wonderful name, but a sturdy one, don't you think?"

"I suppose."

"You must go," Anne said. "Mother will never let you hear the end of it otherwise."

Dear Mr. Ormston,

I would be pleased to accompany you to the park tomorrow.

Lady Eleanor

"You should wear the blue gown you took to Kent," Anne said. "It might remind him of whatever it was you were wearing three years ago."

"I'll wear one of my old gowns," Eleanor said. "It did me no good to put on a wanton appearance, Anne. You have to admit that."

"No lip color?" Anne asked, horrified.

"None. And a modest dress."

"Perhaps you weren't aware of this, but I instructed Willa to give away most of the gowns you used to own," her sister pointed out. "You didn't!"

"I certainly did," she retorted. "Just because you've been thwarted in love..." She paused, and added,

"again, doesn't mean that you should turn yourself into a pattern card of domestic dreariness.

You've had very bad luck, Eleanor. Now you need to be prudent."

"I am being prudent."

"No. You are going to dress like the desirable young lady that you are. You are going to act in a proper manner. Don't tell me that Villiers didn't get a good look at your silver combs, Eleanor, because I know perfectly well that he did."

"You're saying I'm a fool."

"I'm saying that perhaps you should just follow the path that the rest of us have taken successfully,"

her sister said gently. "Flirt with the gentleman, be enticing and yet modest. It's a game, Eleanor, but it's a most rewarding one."

"Very well," Eleanor said, inexpressibly depressed.

"Remember, that was your first season, and your head was full of Gideon. Any number of respectable gentlemen might have fallen in love with you, and you wouldn't have noticed. I would suggest the sprigged muslin, because the gauze around the bodice makes it practically prudish."

Eleanor nodded, acquiescing.



"And I suppose that you might eschew the black around your eyes," Anne said. "But you simply must have a bit of cheek color. You look as pale as a ghost. Poor Mr. Ormston will think you suffered from a bout of consumption while he was abroad."